


Pirouette

by luckybarton



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Brave New Bork, Crack, Gen, I'm Sorry, Rivalry, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, also, bork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 21:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14174265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckybarton/pseuds/luckybarton
Summary: My archnemesis, Gretzky Luongo, preferred Reeboks.





	Pirouette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Casylum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Casylum/gifts).



I attached the knife to my shoe with care. Cowboy boots were my preferred style; the spurs had come in handy in more than one on-ice fight. While using the knives was illegal, spurs weren’t—yet. No ref had ever caught me, and I intended to keep it that way.

My archnemesis, Gretzky Luongo, preferred Reeboks, and was known to use  _ kitchen knives, _ of all things. He was the darling of the entire NHL, and was personally sponsored by the Real Canadian Superstore, who provided him with a fresh set every period. The best of the best, he was a goalie  _ and _ offence  _ and _ defence, almost simultaneously, often within the same game. He never switched out, never took a penalty. The ultimate player, both on-ice and with the ladies. 

Okay, so, maybe—it’s entirely possible that Gretzky Luongo had no idea who I was. You see, Gretzky Luongo was  _ everyone’s _ archnemesis. You wanted to be him, be like him, and be with him. I know one thing for sure, though—as soon as my spurs as much as grazed his weird yellow no-name-branded transformable goalie pads, he was out for blood.

_ My blood. _

I would have swooned if it wasn’t fucking terrifying, because if there’s one person the refs ignore—yeah, you guessed it. The one man who’s never spent any time in the sin bin across his entire career? Yeah. Blood. I  _ meant _ it. So I did the unthinkable.

So, Gretzky Luongo, right? The ultimate Canadian, which made him the ultimate hockeyman ever to be, because we have a ranking system, and it goes—Canadians at the top, then erryone else, so, Finnish, Swedish, Russian, you know, Europe with ice, then Americans.  _ Nobody _ is below the Americans.

Even when they win, nobody is below the Americans. So nobody’s gonna try and touch him except an American, because Americans are simultaneously the saltiest and least vodka-soaked of the bunch. And with my boots? I was almost indistinguishable, even to myself.

So here’s Gretzky, coming at me on one foot, knife in one hand, ref conspicuously whistling O Canada. And here’s me—using my ultimate, secret weapon.

See, my brother’s a figure skater. We did lessons together, when we were kids. One of the opposing team thought they could sneak the puck by me, but I caught it with my stick mid-pirouette and sent it rocketing toward the oh-so-empty goal.

All eyes were on me. Nobody noticed the puck go in. Except for the ref, and a million bazillion fans.

We won 5-4, overtime. And I lived to tell the tale.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel the need to defend my honour.
> 
> Go Canucks.


End file.
